by Tim Waggoner
Liber Ab Oblivione.
A bookmark stuck out from the pages about a third of the way in, and Jayce opened the book to that point. The text was written in English, but that didn’t help him understand it any better. There were terms mentioned that he wasn’t familiar with. The Gyre. Purgatum. Shadow. The Nightway. The Vast. The bookmark had something printed on it, an ad for the store where Emory had presumably bought it. Tainted Pages. New and Used Books. Esoterica a Specialty.
He put the book back in the nightstand drawer but he folded the bookmark and put it in his wallet. He almost turned to leave then, but he realized there was one last place to search. He got down on his hands and knees and peered under the bed. At most, he thought he might find a couple plastic storage containers for extra clothes, but the only object beneath the bed was a cardboard shoebox. It was the kind of thing that people kept photos or other memorabilia in. Or maybe receipts. Receipts would give him an insight into where Emory usually went, where she spent her money. They’d give him other places to look for her. More, they’d help him better understand the person his daughter had become. He was beginning to believe that if he was going to have any hope of finding her, it wouldn’t be because of one specific clue, but because he’d finally, after all these years, gotten to know who she was. It was a sad realization, one accompanied by deep guilt and self-loathing, but he did his best to ignore those feelings. They weren’t going to help him find his daughter.
He sat cross-legged on the floor next to Emory’s bed, shoebox on his lap. He removed the lid, put it on the floor, and looked inside. No receipts, no memorabilia. Inside was a bright pink rubber object, and at first he thought it was a sex toy of some kind. The discovery made him feel even more like an intruder – a violator – in his daughter’s private space. His first impulse was to put the lid back on the box, slide it under the bed, and get the hell out of there. But the longer he examined the object, the more he realized it didn’t look like any sex toy he was familiar with – not that he was an expert, by any means. It wasn’t shaped like a phallus and it didn’t have any visible controls, like a vibrator would have. No buttons, no dial to twist. It was a coiled length of what looked like solid tubing about an inch thick. He tried to guess how long it would be if he removed it from the box and straightened it. Four feet, he guessed, maybe longer. He felt an urge to touch it, if only to get a better idea of what it was, but he resisted. Maybe this wasn’t a sex toy, but if it was, if it was something Emory had used to pleasure herself, he did not want to handle it. The very idea disgusted him. In a sense, it would be incestuous, maybe not technically but emotionally, and that was a line he wasn’t willing to cross, not for any reason. He reached for the lid, but before he could take hold of it, the object in the box shifted.
He stared down at it, not trusting what he’d felt, putting it down to a combination of imagination and guilt over spying on his daughter.
Oh, it moved all right, Mother said. And you’d better do something before it—
One end of the pink tubing lifted out of the box and, moving so fast it was little more than a blur, it wrapped itself around Jayce’s wrist. The rubbery surface felt vaguely slimy, and the sensation of its touch disturbed him almost as much as the fact that it had moved. He yanked his wrist back in reflex, but instead of freeing himself, he only pulled the rest of the tubing out of the box. The entire length was moving now, writhing in the air, long body whipping back and forth like a pissed-off snake.
He let out a cry of disgust and jumped to his feet. He grabbed hold of the tubing’s other end and tried to pull it off him. But that end coiled around his other wrist, and the thing had him cuffed. He tried pulling both hands free by jerking his arms violently outward, but whatever the hell this thing was, it was too strong. A thin tendril emerged from the middle section of tubing and stretched toward his neck, while another emerged and moved toward his crotch. Both tendrils thickened as they extended until they were the same size as the main mass. One of the tendrils wrapped around his neck, while the other forced its way into his pants, slithered through his pubic hair and wrapped around his penis. Panic set in and he began thrashing back and forth, attempting to free his hands so he could grab hold of the other tendrils and pull them off him. But his exertions proved no more effective than before, and all he managed to do was lose his balance.
He flopped onto the bed, still struggling to pull free of the coils encircling his wrists. The tendril around his neck tightened slowly, compressing his airway bit by bit. The tendril in his pants began squeezing his cock, firmly but not so hard that it hurt. The tendril began to grow warmer, and the slime on the outer surface became thicker. The cock-tendril worked his shaft with all the skill and precision of a high-class whore, and despite the situation he grew erect in its rubbery embrace. While the cock-tendril went to town on his stiff member, the neck-tendril continued its slow, inexorable tightening. He mentally detached himself from what was being done to him beneath the waist. As bad as that was, it was nothing compared to having his oxygen supply cut off. He tried tensing his neck muscles, turning his head, shaking it back and forth, but none of his exertions loosened the neck-tendril. All he’d accomplished was to waste oxygen with his movements. He tried crying out for help, not caring if he were discovered having broken into his daughter’s apartment, but he could no longer draw in enough air to shout, could only manage a weak breathy wheeze that only vaguely resembled the word help.
His head began to pound with migraine intensity, and his vision began to blur, a soft gray haze nibbling at the corners of his eyes. Distantly, he was aware of his cock throbbing, the skin stretched so tight it felt as if it might tear any second. His testicles felt as if they were on fire as his body built toward an orgasm he didn’t want. He wondered if he’d come before he lost consciousness or if his body would betray him after he passed out. He remembered reading somewhere that when men were hanged, their cocks fired off a last desperate blast of semen, on the off chance that somehow there might be a receptive egg nearby. Evolution’s last-ditch evacuation plan. Dead man cumming! he thought, feeling lightheaded now. He would’ve laughed if he could’ve drawn enough air into his lungs to do so.
As darkness began to slip over him and his orgasm drew imminent, he thought of Emory. Hoped that wherever she was, she was safe and happy. He also hoped that someone else would find his body so she wouldn’t have to. He didn’t want her last memory of him to be that of a purple-faced corpse with cum-stained pants sprawled across her bed.
He heard movement then, a scuffing thump on the carpet, and then, through his dimming vision, he saw a swift blur of motion. It was followed by a tug on his neck, and then a sharp piercing cry. Another blur of motion, another tug, this one on his cock. He’d already been on the verge of ejaculating, and this last sensation sent him over the edge. His dick spasmed and an electric jolt lanced through his prostate. It was the most powerful orgasm he’d ever experienced, and for several seconds he was unable to control himself as endorphins flooded his system and his body bucked as if he were having a seizure. When it was over, he lay back, gasping, his underwear soaked with warm sticky cum. The fact that he could breathe was something of a miracle, and he realized that the coil around his neck had been loosened. He tried to move his arms, but he couldn’t. His wrists were still bound by those coils as strongly as ever.
His vision began to clear, and he looked up to see Ohio Pig standing next to the bed, looking down at him. The man grinned.
“Was it as good for you as it was for me?”
Chapter Six
The man held a large hunting knife – not much different from the kind the dog-eaters had carried – the blade slick with blood. At first Jayce thought it was his blood, but then he saw the stumps where the neck and cock tendrils had been attached to the pink creature, blood running from both ragged openings. The severed neck-tendril lay on his chest, the cock-tendril on his crotch, both twitching weakly, well on their way
to dying. As far as Jayce was concerned, they couldn’t get there fast enough.
He looked up at Ohio Pig, intending to ask the man to cut his hands free. But before he could speak, the man sat on the bed next to him and placed the edge of the knife to Jayce’s neck.
The Pig shook his head. “You people are sick, you know that? I can’t believe you snuck into someone’s apartment just so you could get off in their bedroom. And with a Pink Devil yet. Don’t you know how dangerous those things are?”
“I’m…starting to get an idea,” Jayce said, throat hurting and voice raspy. He’d forgotten about his headache during his orgasm, but it was back now, not quite as agonizing as before, but still damned painful. He should’ve been terrified that this man had a big-ass knife to his neck, blood from the Pink Devil oozing off the metal and onto his flesh. But after what he’d just been through, he didn’t feel any emotion as he asked, “Why are you holding a knife to my throat? You’re not still mad about me cutting you off in traffic, are you? I said I was sorry.”
The man looked at Jayce as if he’d made the stupidest statement imaginable.
“It’s because I’m holding the knife that I get to ask the questions instead of you. Got it?”
Jayce nodded. His semen cooled against his wilted cock and blood continued dripping from the Pink Devil’s wounds. The color of its rubbery substance was fading, the pink edging toward white, and the tendrils wrapped around his wrist didn’t feel so tight anymore. He pulled experimentally, making sure to keep the movement minimal. The coils hadn’t loosened enough for him to pull free yet, but they would. He just needed to be patient.
Ohio Pig smiled again, revealing crooked, yellowed teeth. One of his front teeth was missing, and this caused a slight, almost undetectable whistle when he spoke.
“That’s better. I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer them with a simple yes or no. If I want you to say any more than that, I’ll tell you. Got it?”
“Yes.”
The Pig lowered his head closer to Jayce and looked him deep in the eyes, as if trying to gauge his sincerity. Whatever he saw in Jayce’s gaze must have satisfied him, and he asked his first question.
“Are you one of them?”
Jayce didn’t know how to respond to that, and after several seconds passed, the Pig added, “You know what I mean. Are you a Shadower?”
Jayce had no idea what that was, but from the way the Pig’s upper lip curled when he said the word, Jayce figured his safest bet was to answer no, and he did.
“Then what the fuck were you doing having lunch with that woman?”
Jayce hesitated, and the man said, “Forget yes or no. Just answer.”
“My daughter’s missing. I went to the convenience store where she worked to see if I could learn anything that might help me find her. Outside, a couple” – he felt silly saying the word – “dog-eaters attacked me. Nicola chased them off. She thinks she might be able to help me find my daughter.”
He’d left out some of the details, but he figured he’d covered the most important parts.
“Dog-eaters, huh? I hate those fuckers. They’re like goddamned cockroaches. Kill one and a dozen more take its place.”
Kill? Mother said. You hear that?
He sure as shit had.
He tested his bonds again. Looser, but still not loose enough.
“Whose place is this? Your daughter’s?”
“Yes.”
“You find anything in here that gave you a clue as to what might’ve happened to her?”
Jayce thought of the bookmark folded in his wallet. “No.”
The Pig’s mouth worked itself into a grimace of distaste. “Do you feel like a perv sneaking around in your daughter’s bedroom? Looking in her drawers, her closet…fucking around with her Pink Devil. ’Cause if I was in your place, I would feel like a real lowlife. A true sleazeball, you know? What’s your daughter’s name? Don’t lie to me. I’ll know if you do.”
The man might be bluffing, probably was, but after everything Jayce had seen since setting foot inside the CrazyQwik last night, he decided not to take any chances.
“Emory Lewis.”
“Describe her.”
Jayce was reluctant to do so, but the Pig pressed the knife blade more firmly against his throat to emphasize who was in charge, and Jayce complied, describing Emory in the most general terms. The Pig didn’t ask for further details.
“Is she a Shadower?”
“No.” At least, not as far as I know, he thought.
The Pig gave Jayce a skeptical look, then pressed the knife even harder against his neck, the blade dimpling the skin. Jayce held his breath, afraid to move. He could feel the Pink Devil’s coils slackening further, and in another few seconds he would be able to pull himself free at last. But once he could use his hands again, how was he going to get Ohio Pig away from him without getting his throat slashed?
The man smiled, once more showing his mouthful of yellowed teeth.
“All right. I believe you.”
He pulled the knife away from Jayce’s neck and with a single swift motion sliced through the nearly bone-white length of the formerly Pink Devil. There was little blood left in the thing, so only a few drops oozed from where the Pig’s knife cut it. Once the blade had done its work, the last of the life went out of the tendrils wrapped around Jayce’s wrists. They were no longer shiny and rubbery but dry and brittle. The Pig wiped his knife on Emory’s sheets, then slid it into his right boot. He then glanced down at the wet spot on Jayce’s crotch and wrinkled his nose.
“Christ, man, you should go home and get yourself a fresh pair of undies.”
He stood and moved away from the bed. Jayce sat up and pulled the remains of the Pink Devil from his wrists and let the pieces fall onto the bed to join the rest of the creature. Blood stained the sheets and his clothes, and if anyone had been here to see him, that person would’ve thought the Pig had stabbed Jayce repeatedly. He stood and turned his back to the other man as he reached into his pants and picked the dead pieces of the Pink Devil off his dick. They were sticky with drying cum, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stand having the goddamned things touching his skin any longer – especially down there.
The sheets were already a mess, so he tossed the last bits of the Devil onto the bed with the rest. When he figured he’d gotten most of the Pink Devil out of his underwear, he turned to face the Pig.
“If you think I’m going to shake your hand – either of them – after that, you’re insane,” the man said.
Now that he was no longer in immediate danger of getting his throat cut, the emotional impact of what had happened – being raped by some kind of living sex toy, then being interrogated at knifepoint by a lunatic – was starting to hit him. A dozen different emotions collided within him – chief among them shame, revulsion, and denial. But the strongest of them was anger.
“Why the fuck would I shake your hand?” he demanded. “You held a goddamned knife to my throat!”
Ohio Pig didn’t seem offended by Jayce’s outburst.
“I freed you from the Pink Devil.” He paused, then added, “Eventually. But the biggest reason you should want to shake my hand is because I’m going to help you.”
Jayce couldn’t believe what he was hearing. First the sonofabitch threatened him, and now he claimed he wanted to help him somehow?
Don’t trust him, Mother said. You can’t trust anyone but family, and sometimes not even them.
“Help me how?”
“What happened? Did the Pink Devil squeeze out all your brains when it milked your cock? I’m going to help you find your daughter. My guess is she’s fallen in with some Shadowers, got herself in too deep, and needs some help finding her way home. I’ll track her down, even if she doesn’t want to be found. That just makes the hunt sweeter, know what I mea
n?” He grinned, but his eyes were cold and hard as black pebbles coated with ice. “You got a cell number where I can get in touch with you?”
Ohio Pig – the same guy who’d threatened him outside the doctor’s office this morning and had held him at knifepoint only moments ago – was now offering his services, whatever they might be, as an ally in the search for Emory. It seemed like far too abrupt a turnaround for the man, and Jayce didn’t trust it.
“Why do you care what happened to my daughter?”
“I don’t. But I hate Shadowers, and I never miss a chance to fuck them up.” He looked Jayce up and down, as if only now noticing how stained his clothes were. “Man, go home, burn those clothes, and take a goddamn shower.” He paused, as if reconsidering. “On second thought, take two.”